


Building His Own Robin

by Aydammair



Series: JayTim Week 2016 [1]
Category: DCU
Genre: Fluff, Get Together, M/M, Tattoos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-02
Updated: 2016-08-02
Packaged: 2018-07-28 20:17:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,155
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7655215
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aydammair/pseuds/Aydammair
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jason's known he was in love with Tim for years, but maybe now is the time to do something about it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Building His Own Robin

Jason lands on Tim's balcony and slides into a chair in a single smooth motion. He takes the two place settings as an invitation and helps himself to a pastry and some fruit salad. 

"You're early," Tim comments from the doorway, Jason waves a hand at him and turns to see him lounging against the frame, nothing on but a towel around his hips. Jason swallows a strawberry, hard.

"Yeah well, seize the day and all of that," he retorts, "the other's won't be up until noon anyway and I got bored."

"How are your ... companions?" Tim asks in a tone that has nothing to do with the people in question and everything to do with Jason.

"Garth and Jaime? They're, " Jason waves a hand that encompasses the entirety of the two irrepresible metas, "them. We're doing good."

"I don't doubt it," Tim replies with the raised eyebrow and tone that always caused his teammates to call him an evil mastermind. When Jason had announced his newest road-trip buddies, no one had had been more or less surprised than Tim. 

"There is no coffee here. How is that possible?" Jason continues, looking dubiously at the pitcher of orange juice. It was one of those fancy double walled ones that you could freeze and keep the juice cold without watering it down.

"It's still brewing. Like I said, you're early," Tim replies, "Give me a minute to put a shirt on and I'll bring it out."

"Kay," Jason mumbles around another strawberry. Tim turns and Jason chokes. Tim has a tattoo. Bird wings, spread out across his shoulders, down his back and arms. Instead of the soft shading of feathers however, it's sharp, geometric, in a way that makes Jason think of circuits and computers. It's beautiful, and even from a distance Jason can tell it's intricately done. 

Jason pours himself a glass of orange juice, very carefully sips it until he can breathe again and turns to stare out at the city. This is going to be one of those life-changing revelations, he can tell. He closes his eyes and summons Ducra's teachings. Let go of the past or it will destroy your present. You cannot hold on to both. He is pretty sure she hadn't been talking about accepting that Batman's smallest side-kick, his brother in everything that mattered, the smartest of them all, has somehow transformed from that into an independent crusader, a force unto himself, who apparently had gone out and gotten a tattoo to celebrate. 

Jason knows Tim has grown up, is an adult, but he had already been treating him that way for so long - none of them who grew up under the Bat were ever really children. Now, Tim is no longer the Batman's shadow, is no longer a Robin. He has graduated, moved on to bigger and better things, and is making his own path. The tattoo, something Batman would have sternly disapproved of because it is identifiable, is stark, black evidence of that.

Tim deposits a cup of coffee in front of Jason and slides into the opposite chair with the same grace as Jason. Jason scopes three spoons of sugar into the coffee and stirs it intently. The silence builds comfortably between them as they both sip their coffee. Tim sets his down first and reaches for a croissant. He neatly slices it open and spreads a thin layer of jam on it. Jason watches him for a moment and then sets his cup down. 

"So, " he says, casually shredding the croissant on his own plate, "I see you got a tattoo."

Tim swallows his bite and smirks. "I did."

"Does Dick know?"

"Who do you think go me the name of Roy's favorite artist?"

Jason makes a note to kick both of their asses later for leaving him out of the gossip loop.

"And our dear Daddy?"

"He approves of the execution, abet not the theory."

"You got that much out of him?"

Tim picks up with cup with a smirk.

"Even Bruce knows how to appreciate art when he sees it," he comments mildly. There is something, some monumental statement on the tip of Jason's tongue. He's sure of it, but the world will never know what it was, because at that exact moment his phone goes off. It's the distinctive obscenely gay techno song that Jaime picked out. Jason only keeps it because he like the way it make the eyebrow twitch of any senior Justice League member he happens to be in the presence of when it goes off.

"Yeah?" he answers, not really wanting to, but knowing Jaime wouldn't have a good reason to call this early. He listens to Jaime's babble and sighs.

"Okay, I'll take care of it. Stay there, keep Garth away from the explosives," he orders. Tim raises a questioning eyebrow as he stands.

"Angry aliens in the warehouse," Jason explains.

"May you live in interesting times," Tim intones and raises his cup in toast. Jason snorts.

"See you around," he says. Tim's smile turns soft, just for a second.

"I hope so," he murmurs as Jason drops over the edge of the balcony and away.

\---

Aliens lead to drug dealers which lead to conspiracies which lead to secret government organizations. Jason's back in Gotham staring at Dick, who had shown up for the last round of whack-a-cult-leader, before he knows it. Jason leans back a touch and slugs Dick in the jaw with his best left-hook.

"What the hell!" Damian exclaims, sword halfway out of its sheath.

"He knows damn well what it was for," Jason says. Dick starts laughing, leaning back to pinch off a nose bleed. Jason may have pulled the punch a little, and he might have had enough warning to turn into the blow, but Jason was still annoyed enough to make it count. Jason scoffs in a satisfied sort of way and stalks out of the cave, giving Bruce a companionable pat on the shoulder when he passes him on the stairs.

He ends up at the top of a skyscraper staring out over the cityscape and brooding. He's always liked Tim, even when he hated what he represented. When his relationship with the family evolved, when he and Bruce learned to work together again and he and Dick became actual friends, he wasn't that surprised to find he'd fallen in love with Tim. It wasn't that big of a deal at the time. When Jason fell, he fell hard, and he wasn't repressed enough to deny it. It was simply that he and Tim had been in different places at the time. Tim had been finding his way as a leader of the Teen Titans and Jason had been getting to know his second set of teammates (sidekicks).

Then Jason had been on his own for a while, but it still hadn't seemed right. Tim was comfortable with his team. (Comfortable enough to sleep with nearly all of them, Jason knew for a fact, superheroes were terrible gossips). Jason knew he was an all or nothing kind of person. Anything that happened between them would either end in the most epic of ways (good or bad) or last forever, and neither of them needed that at the moment. So Jason distracted himself with Hong Kong and Tim continued to lead the Teen Titans to glory.

Now, however, it seemed that era was over. Garth and Jaime beginning to travel with Jason while Tim settled comfortably in Paris should have been his first clue really. Having new compainions wasn't new to Jason, it was simply a new season of the same story. The color of the person sitting beside him in the jet changing from gray to green and red to blue wasn't enough to shake him up. That tattoo however, that was a declaration of something new. That was Tim staking out a landmark, a personal milestone of some sort on his very skin. What is meant, what that symbol was, Jason had no clue, but it meant something.

\---

The next day Jason decided his sidekicks needed some practice, they had been getting lazy and it had showed during the last mission. The fact that Jason was in dire need of distraction and sparring was the best way to do that had nothing to do with it, despite what Jaime said.

Unfortunately, Jason had also been trained to meditate by following forms. Jaime and Garth were good, but they were predictable. They had been trained to fight as a team, which restricted their movements to a limited set. Jason had been working with them on the concept of improvisation, but today he found himself falling into repetitive motions, blocking their blows and blasts absentmindedly.

He wonders what Tim fights like these days; it's been a surprisingly long time since they've been in the field together. He wonders if he still moves like a Robin, like "punk-rock" as Dick once described it, or if, like everything about himself it seems, he's developed something new. Jason thinks for a moment that he might be a symphony. A precise, well ordered machine, combining a vast array of instruments into a single formidable sound. 

He's imagined Tim in bed many times over the years. He's probably the same there as he is in the field. Precise, with an unnerving attention to detail, and a hidden level of caring and love that is staggering once you realize what you're looking at. Jason absently wonders what Tim is like in the mornings. He's had breakfast with him often enough, but that's always after Tim has had time to wake up and put on his masks and armor for the day. What is he like first thing, with the dawn light lighting his skin? Would the black ink of his tattoo look sharper or softer in that moment?

Jason freezes at the thought, leaving him open to a blast from Jaime that has him stumbling backward. Garth takes advantage of the opening and winds around his legs as a snake. Jason bounces off a wall, tries to throw a knife, and, instead of elegantly back flipping in order to detangle from Garth, accidentally steps on the end of the snake, trips and falls on his ass instead.

"Oy, puta! Deja de soñar sobre los chicos!" Jaime shouts at him.

"Cállate pendejo," Jason shouts back. Jamie lands on the floor next to Garth who has shifted back into a human shape with a bonus monkey tail that he is tenderly holding. Jaime immediately begins exaggeratedly fussing over him. Jason rolls his eyes.

"Knock it off, you don't even have a real cola," he says. The innuendo is terrible but Jaime takes the bait anyway.

"At least he's willing to say what's on his mind, puta, that makes his cola bigger than yours," he says.

"Seriously, Jason, what's got you so distracted?" Garth interjects. He shifts fully into a tiny monkey and vaults onto Jason's shoulder to tug insistently at his hair. Jason shrugs his shoulder to try and dislodge him, but he rides out the motion and clings insistently.

"Just slept badly, that's all," Jason says irritably. Jaime crosses his arms.

"Uh huh. You never sleep, what's really going on here?"

Jason was spoiled by his first set of partners and their reluctance to talk about themselves. It should have figured that the third time around, he'd end up with the rejects that enjoyed talking about their feelings. Knowing they'll just get progressively more annoying, Jason sighs and gives up. At least these two did fight alongside Tim for a couple of years, maybe they'll have some insight.

"It's Tim," he says.

"Ah," Jaime says wisely, "Tienes ganas. Es el culo no? It is a work of art."

"I second that," Garth says solemnly, "and I ain't even gay."

Fuck it, Jason thinks, there's no way he could be dumber than these two. He's walked in on them throwing marshmallows at each other wearing nothing but boxers before.

"If only it was about his ass," he says, "I'd have been in and out a long time ago."

Garth shifts back to human (no tail this time) and looks confused but understanding dawns on Jaime's face.

"Oh nene," he murmurs sympathetically as he lands and puts a comforting hand on Jason's shoulder, "Es su sonrisa no?"

"Es como una flor que florece en el amanecer," Jason murmurs.

"Dude," Garth says, sounding awed, "I don’t know what you just said, but it sounded beautiful. You've got it bad."

"Jason, look at me," Jaime sasys seriously as he put his hands on Jason's shoulders and looks him in the eye, "Are you going to mope about this like a girl?"

"Or Superboy," Garth adds helpfully.

"Or Superboy," Jaime continues.

"Pretty sure I can name six ladies off-hand who would happily kick your ass for that comment," Jason says. Jaime continues unperturbed as Garth snickers.

"Or are you going to reach into your Batbelt there, find your cajones, put them on like a big girl and do something about this?"

"I vote option A," Garth volunteers, "I like ice cream and poetry personally."

"Vengan a cojer," Jason says without heat and shrugs off Jaime's hands. Both Garth and Jaime give him a look that is simultaneously condescending and pitying. Jason knows he's playing right into their hands, but fuck it, he's not afraid to live a little, "Fine, I'll do something about it!" He snaps. As he stalks out of the room he pretends for his partners' sake that he can't hear them high-fiving behind him.

\---

Jason stares from the roses in his hand to the door and back. For all his bravado, he's always been good at second guessing himself. He gets caught up in grand schemes and then seconds from execution he second guesses himself and retreats to plan something else. He can't help it, his brain is always telling him there's another, bigger, better way to make whatever statement he's trying to make. That being said, Jason does know when to quit plotting, when to quit trying to decide if roses are really the right way to express his sentiment, or if something more symbolic might have been better, if acting like a normal person and knocking on the door is polite or if he should burst onto a balcony with an entrance that would make the Batman proud, if his nicest leather jacket and jeans Roy told him made him look "edible" is nice enough, or if he should have gone with the full tailored suit. Right, Jason knows when to quit thinking all those thoughts and dive right into a firefight. With that disturbingly appropriate metaphor in mind, Jason knocks firmly on the door. There's a very long pause, just enough for Jason to wonder if Tim had gone out on patrol and Oracle had somehow missed it. (Which, come to think of it, she handed over Tim's location a little too easily). He has just started to raise his hand to knock again when Tim opens the door. Caught off guard, Jason shoves the flowers behind his back. Tim looks as put together as ever.

"Hi?" Jason says awkwardly.

"Hi," Tim replies with a confused but friendly smile. Ignoring every instinct screaming at him, this isn't a firefight despite the disturbingly high odds of one of them pulling a weapon, Jason pulls the flowers back from behind his back and presents them.

"These are for you," he says, usual charisma failing him and wishing he had prepared something. Just as a back-up. Batman's lectures about being prepared for everything echoed in his head. Tim stares at the roses like he's never seen foliage in his life. Which isn't true, he's got scars from Ivy's roses just the same as any of them. Jason suddenly wishes he hadn't gone with that particular shade of red. But Tim is taking the flowers from his hands.

"Thank you," he says and steps back, "Would you like to come in?" 

"Sure," Jason replies and slides past Tim, on auto-pilot he heads toward the living room.

"What's the occasion?" Tim asks, "Please tell me no one died."

Jason spins around and finds Tim hiding a smile behind the roses.

"No," Jason starts, then gets stuck on the way the curve of Tim's lips brush softly against the rose petals as he leans in to smell them. With a huff, Jason takes a step forward, pushes the flowers away with one hand, slides the other into Tim's hair and pulls him up into a kiss. The roses land somewhere with a rustle as Tim reaches up to wrap his arms around Jason's neck and pulls himself into the kiss. His tongue slides against Jason's with a breathy moan. He's as eager as Jason imagined, knew, he'd be. And that's the problem. 

Jason pulls back. Puts some distance between them. He wants nothing more than to grab Tim again, slide his hand back into that soft hair, so he slides them into his own hair. His fingers press against the phantom sensation of Tim's.

"I can't, I," he tries to find words, to convey how important this is, and not just write off his nerves with a smart quip, "I'm not capable of having just one night," he somehow manages to say. He looks at Tim, away, and back again. Tim is quiet for a long moment and then he steps forward. He reaches up and grasps Jason's wrists, pulls his hands down and presses them to his own waist.

"If I wanted just one night, I would have taken it a long time ago. I was waiting for you," he says quietly and pushes up for another kiss. It's soft this time, just a brush of lips against lips. Jason's eyes flutter closed and is hands slide around Tim's waist to press him closer. Tim's hands glide up his arms and curve over his shoulders. Their kiss becomes firmer, faster, less chaste as their breath begins to mingle. Jason slides one hand up Tim's back and presses between his shoulder blades as he pulls away, just an inch, eyes still closed as he tries to find his breath.

"Is this real?" he asks. He feels Tim's hands press against his neck, fingertips just behind his ears, thumbs resting on his cheeks. He opens his eyes to look into Tim's. The deep blue is as overwhelming as ever and as serious as Jason's ever seen it.

"Yes," Tim says firmly. It's a promise and an oath and a prayer all rolled into one. This is it, Jason realizes, this is the moment he vaults the safety rail and jumps into chaos. This is the moment to stop preparing and start acting. A familiar, wicked smile flashes across his face and he hauls Tim against him. Tim grins and meets him halfway, just like he always has.

They kiss with intent, lips sliding against each other, getting increasingly wet as tongues start to slip out. Tim presses his tongue harder and slides it into Jason's mouth. Jason sucks on it eagerly and falls backward onto the couch. Tim rides the movement easily, landing with his knees on either side of Jason's hips and uses the new angle to press even harder against Jason's mouth. His fingers dig in slightly as he tilts Jason's head back. He pulls back just a little, tip of his tongue and then his lips just rubbing against Jason as they both pant for breath. Jason opens his eyes, takes in the way Tim's are still closed in concentration and closes them again. He slips his tongue just past Tim's lips, lets it slide against Tim's for a moment and then pulls away. He fights against the hold Tim has on him, reveling in the strong press of fingers against his neck and rests his forehead against Tim's, taking a moment to catch his breath. Their eyes catch and Tim huffs a laugh. Jason smiles back and Tim tilts his head back, going in for another kiss. This time when Tim's tongue presses demandingly into Jason's mouth, he bites at it teasingly. Tim moans, just slightly and that's enough for Jason to reach up and press his hand against Tim's jaw tilting his head as he tilts his own in the opposite direction. He bites gently along the bone, switching back to kisses when he reaches Tim's neck and the soft skin behind his ear. Tim moans and tilts his head back farther. Encouraged, Jason pushes his other hand under Tim's shirt, sliding slowly along his abs and up his sternum, fingers pressing into the skin just enough to feel the strength underneath. He reaches the hollow of Tim's throat and presses his fingers there for a moment as he kisses down along his neck. He runs his fingers long his clavicle and wants to press his teeth there as well, but is impeded by the shirt. He growls and tugs at the collar of it. Tim reaches down and grabs the rucked up hem, pulling the garment off in a single smooth move. He looks back down at Jason with a grin.

"Like what you see?" he asks, running his fingers along Jason's lips. Jason can't honestly reply as Tim is back-lit by the bright Paris city-scape so he grabs him by the waist and pivots them. Tim lands on his back underneath Jason, spread lengthwise along the couch. Jason lifts one hand and runs it along Tim's now obvious smile in a parody of the other man's gesture. 

He grins down at the other man, liking the new angle.

"Oh yes," he purrs, "I think I do."

Tim grins at him and slides a hand under his jacket, fingers toying with the hem of his jeans.

"What if I want to see too?" he says coyly. Jason smirks and sits up. Tim smirks back and tucks his hands behind his head. Jason's jacket is just a tad too heavy to pull off slowly, but he does his best to make it look teasing. He grabs the collar of his shirt and pulls it off in a single smooth move, flinging it somewhere behind the couch. His hands slowly drift back down, touching his own shoulders and sliding down his chest and thighs before coming to rest on Tim's hips. He leans forward to press Tim down with his weight and initiate a kiss that is slow, languid and absolutely filthy. When he feels his jaw begin to ache and like he'll never be able to take a deep breath again, Jason pulls back.

"Can I?" he asks, "I want to see."

Tim's hands slide down his sides and press into the couch. His hips arch up and grind into Jason's.

"You'll have to move," he murmurs. Jason almost refuses, but he wants this so badly. On the fourteen hour flight over here, he spent six sleeping and eight thinking about that goddamn tattoo. He has to see it now, to understand what it means. He obediently sits up and Tim rolls over with a stretch that he could have only learned from a porn movie - or Dick. He resettles with his arms crossed under his cheek, peering at Jason from the corner of his eye.

Now lit by the golden glow from the window, the tattoo is an iron contrast to Tim's bronze skin. The sharp, straight lines of it are clearer now, up close. Dozens of feathers are individually defined, layered next to each other like real wings. As before, their rectangular shape and straight patterns remind Jason of a machine. Yet when he looks closer, he starts to see imperfections, irregularities in the patterns. He has just enough artist in him to realize that's what gives the whole design life, makes the feathers look real from a distance, not something that's been stenciled onto a blank paper. He runs his fingers down Tim's back and with a start, realizes the patterns follow his scars. It connects them and shows how they all built Tim, taught him to be faster, dodge better, start moving sooner. They aren't scars; they're stories. Jason leans down and runs his tongue up the length of Tim's spine. He tastes real, feels warm. Eyes closed, he starts pressing kisses to Tim's shoulders.

"I want to learn you, to understand," he murmurs. Tim slides his fingers into his hair and turns his head. Jason opens his eyes again to see Tim staring at him. Then a soft smile curves his face.

"So, do I," he says, "You know the best part?"

Jason shakes his head and Tim pulls him in for a short kiss then pulls back.

"We've got all the nights in the world for that," he finishes.

Jason smiles and then buries it into the ink stained skin of his shoulder.

**Author's Note:**

> I learned Spanish in school and from some coworkers, so if you have any corrections to the slang I use, let me know!


End file.
